


A Journal From Two Centuries Ago

by ialpiriel



Series: Sole Survivor Prof [8]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Deaf Character, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Post-Apocalypse, mentions of suicidal ideation, there is a brief but explicit sexual scene, this fic is not happy and fun it is Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 21:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: It's a holotape from Marnie





	

Oct. 24, 2077

Sweetheart,

I’m typing this on a terminal at work. The backup power has kept a few of the terminals on, after we started them back up after the EMP. I don’t know if you made it to the vault. I hope you did. 

I’m afraid. You know. You know how scared I was of this, and I’d rub it in that I was right if the commies hadn’t just bombed us back to the fucking stone age.

We’re all gathered in the lobby, we ate everything from the cafeteria that needed refrigeration last night. We have a lot of beans and canned meat left. A lot of people left to look for their families. A few have come back, said the roads were blockaded, but a lot more just haven’t come back. There was some gunfire earlier, and some of us put furniture over the bottom floor windows. It won’t stop anyone who really wants to get in, but it’s better than nothing.

I love you, and I miss you, and I hope I can see you again.

XOXOXO

***

Oct. 26, 2077

Hey Lover, 

A couple of the guys from HR went out, and came back with guns, and ammunition. We don’t have enough ammunition to practice shooting, so were leaving the protection to people who can use guns already. I told them about the shotgun, but all we have right now are handguns. They’re talking about getting out of town and shooting cattle to turn into food. That won’t work, it’s too long to carry the meat, and we have them convinced of that, at least. Most of us are telling them to raid the other office buildings, and THEN to move on to super markets. Everyone is going to raid the supermarkets first.

I wish it was safe to come home and live in our house until the radiation kills me.

Damn that’s fucking pessimistic.

You know what I mean.

Do you think anyone has turned Shaun’s halloween costume into kindling yet? I would have. What’s the use of halloween when we’re all gonna be hideous radiation monsters soon anyway, right? Who needs a costume then, when you can get one for free? 

I hope your students got out safe too. I know you’ll be worried about them. I am too.

I hope the vault is nice. I hope you have a nice soft bed, and Shaun has a great crib, and maybe some other kids to play with, and I hope they feed you three square meals a day, and I hope that it’s good food. We’ve been eating beans a lot still. So many beans. If I never see another bean in my life, I might just die happy.

Love you, miss you, cried last night because I just wanted to sleep next to you again.

XOXOXO

***

Oct. 31, 2077

Happy Halloween! How’d the sexy teacher costume go over in the vault? Turn into some poor young woman’s wet dream for me since you’re not here to be mine.

Helped raid a supermarket. We got three bags of halloween candy, some overripe apples, a single shrinkwrapped five-pack of rat-nibbled corn on the cob, and more fucking beans. Spent the last five days fortifying our position. Someone from maintenance managed to pull a semi truck up in front of the building, flush against it, so it blocks a lot of the windows. A couple of us went out and found plywood to over the other windows. We also tried to move one of those concrete blockades to the front gate, but someone in what looked like a police officer’s uniforms started shooting at us when we did, so we had to run. They didn’t follow us back at least, though. We still have someone outside watching, just in case.

Jonathan is making dinner for everyone tonight, he went through all the fridges in the breakroom and brought back whatever hadn’t spoiled yet. He’s making us a halloween dinner. We’re all trying to pretend we don’t know it could be the last good meal we get. That was badly written. We’re all pretending it’s normal, and not the last good meal we might get. There.

Still miss you desperately. All cried out, though .Most of us sleep huddled together now. We’re all missing someone, and that helps a little. No one says anything if someone cries. It’s a lot easier to be honest in the dark. I mean, I guess. Hard to be honest in the dark if you can’t see each other, right?

Still love you, still miss you, still cry at night. 

XOXO

***

Nov. 2, 2077

We’re out of food. We’re going to split up and try to escape the city in twos and threes. It’s been nine days, and I think a lot of places are territory now. I don’t know how well we’ll do getting out of here. I love you.

XOXO

***

Nov. 3, 2077

In a bank. Just resting here overnight. There are four in my group. They were worried I’d get shot because I can’t hear the raiders and the gangs coming. That’s fair. Still feel like I’m being babied.

We’re going to try for Concord and Sanctuary Hills. They figure the suburbs will be more untouched. I hope they’re right. I hope the nuke didn’t take out that whole fucking hill the vault was under. There’s a glow off to the southwest at night. I don’t know what it is but every time I look at it I get nervous. It’s like something out of Lovecraft--don’t look too long or else the cosmic horror will eat your sanity and puke itself back out in your physical form.

English wasn’t ever my strong suit, I guess.

Hope the raiders haven’t defiled our home and filled it with corpses and drugs.

Love you, miss you more every day.

XOXO

***

Nov. 4, 2077

After we left the bank we pushed on through the night and made it to Sanctuary Hills. There are...a lot of corpses in the streets. I don’t know why they’re out in the streets. Most of them have bloodstains, so someone must have shot them, but there are no raiders around, and no real sign that there ever were.

There’s a suit of ruined...power armor I think? I think that’s what they called it on the news. it looks like it was set on fire, and there’s a lot of broken glass nearby. Maybe someone threw a molotov at it. I don’t know. It’s not moving, and none of us want to touch it, and there aren’t any people here.

I’m in the neighbor’s house right now. You know these guys have a dishwasher? Why didn’t we ever get a dishwasher.

I mean, I guess we got Codsworth, which is basically the same thing, but also he can change diapers, but.

You know what I mean.

I hate washing dishes.

I let the others sleep in our house tonight, and Codsworth is puttering around them and feeding them what we had left. They all love him, and I’m glad. He said you two ran for the vault and never came back. I might go up and check tomorrow. Maybe they’ll let me into the vault a week and a half late? I still have my ID.

Of course, maybe the commies have got to me and I’m an infiltrator or something. I don’t know. I heard some nasty rumors about what they were doing to the Chinese. I hope they’re not true. Even if they were, or are, it’s not like I can do anything now. 

How long do you think fuel cells in cars last if they’re not used? You would probably know. I think you told me once, actually, shit, now I can’t remember.

I’m sleeping at the neighbor’s until I can look at our house again. Codsworth keeps drifting over in front of the door--I left it open for him so he could see me sitting here on the terminal. I just...can’t look at our house right now. I still cry at night sometimes. I can’t live in that house until I know you got out safe. I know you would have tried to come to me if you weren’t in the vault, so I’m pretty sure you’re there. Or you’re

I can’t even fucking type it. I just can’t. I don’t wanna think about it and now I’m crying again. Thanks, asshole.

Love you, hope you sleep well tonight, wherever you are. I need to go bother Codsworth.

XOXO

***

Nov. 5, 2077

You’re not outside the vault! You have to be inside, and I want to cry because you're so close but I still can’t get to you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you and I know it bothered you when I repeated things that way but I really, really do. I love you. I love you so much and I want to kiss you and feel you laugh, and I want to make you dinner and watch you smile, and I wanna hold your hand, and I want to sprawl across your lap and watch mindless television, and I wanna wake up at 3 in the morning to feed Shaun because you shook me awake like you were pissed. I want you to give me footrubs and make faces at me.

I love you so much and I’m crying again because I know you’re safe, even if I don’t see you again. I know you and Shaun are safe. That’s what matters right now.

XOXOXO

***

Nov. 6, 2077

Codsworth is still running, and you know what else is? The sex toys. Addendum later. ;)

ADDENDUM:

Fuck, I’ve missed that.

That’s the great thing about being in the neighbor’s house: I have privacy over here. Couldn’t rub one out at the office building, can’t rub one out when there are people one room over because I still don’t know how loud I am, so here I am in the neighbor’s house, fucking myself on the dildo you bought so I could watch YOU, and the way you would throw your head back and bite your lip, the way you would gasp when you were close. God, you were always beautiful. I always just felt sweaty and gross and sticky but then you would laugh and kiss me and that was okay.

Fuck, I miss you.

XO

***

Nov. 7, 2077

A couple of us are starting to break out into rashes. Maybe some stuff that looks like sunburns. It’s probably all the radiation catching up with us. It’s starting to get colder, too. I know I haven’t said anything about the weather but it’s been getting colder. Not COLD really, not any colder than it’s supposed to be, but you can smell something in the air. There’s a lot of haze on the horizon, especially toward Boston. I think it’s fire smoke. There’s still that glow to the south. I saw a vertibird earlier today and it seemed kind of wobbly in the air.

Things are bad, but I think they’re about to get a lot worse.

I wish I could have gotten into the vault with you. I miss you. I wish I could see you again.

XOXOXOXOXO

***

December 25, 2077

We lost power after my last entry. Ran out of food, had to go back into Boston. Raiders came through Sanctuary Hills and drove us out. We headed down to that co-op to the south, the one with the Mr. Handy? They let us in, and that’s where I’m typing this. They have a terminal they let me borrow.

Ron got sick from radiation about a week after my last entry. Ended up puking sick, we couldn’t get fluids into him well enough, and he just...wasted away. Very, very fast. Everyone has the radiation rashes by now. The guys here are trying to get us to smoke weed. They insist it helps, but they’ve got the burns too.

We had some weird weather last week, it was like a thunderstorm, but everything turned green, and it never rained, and the needle on the geiger counter Tony found in one of the other houses started jumping every time lightning flashed.

We left Codsworth behind, he said he wanted to take care of the house. I’m safe with the people who are left, so I don’t feel bad about letting him stay behind.

The guys here want us all to help farm. It’s about time for me to go do my shift, I think. Rosetta is waving at me. I don’t mind that they want us to help, that seems fair. It’s cold, but it doesn’t feel winter-cold, so I guess they’re going to try to grow some plants.

Merry Christmas. I was going to buy you a new coat this year, a nice heavy one like you like. Leather, maybe, if I could find someone to get it to me. Get you a new scarf, too, since your old one is full of holes. I have it with me. It still smells a little like you. Less every day, though, and soon I’m going to have to wash it with this awful homemade soap. You could brain someone with this bar. I really wish I wasn’t going to have to, but. Everything is covered in dirt and radioactive dust, and it sucks. I need to wash too, I’m gross.

I love you, and I miss you more every day.

XOXO

***

Dec. 31, 2077

Happy new year! I’m getting drunk on moonshine and one of the guys here--I still don't have his name, he keeps trying to talk to me even though everyone keeps telling him to sign--made some homemade fireworks out of some gunpowder and fertilizer or something. I don’t know. I’m not a chemist and anyway I’m drunk.

God I’m scared of what next year will bring. At least it probably won’t be nuclear annihilation, right?

Love you and miss you.

XOXOXOXO

***

Jan. 5 2078

Radiation rashes itch like hell. I’m covered in them now--face, shoulders, chest, stomach, ass, legs, feet. Everyone else is too. I’ve got hair falling out, don’t think I’ll have much hair left in a month or two. Rosetta is starting to call me “Patchy” and I hate her.

They let all of us have our own cabins, mostly. It’s just two guys and their robot, and then us four that are left. The two guys are in one cabin, and the rest of us have our own places to stay. It’s still weird and lonely. Also the beds suck ass. Rock hard, too short, narrow, I can feel them wobble every time I move and I can’t imagine how bad it must get if you can hear them too. Glad that’s not a problem for me!!!

Plants are starting to sprout, but they’re not growing very fast. We should have something by April, at least. If we don’t starve before then. If it starts to go that way I might try to get into the vault again.

Miss you, love you. Wish I could be there to kiss you.

XOXO

***

Feb. 14 2078

Happy late anniversary!

It’s so fucking exhausting writing these letters. I wanna cry every time I do. I miss you and I wish we could face this awful, bleak future together. Wouldn’t be so bleak if you were here with me. Still pretty bleak, but at least I could touch you, tell you how much I love you until you hid your face in my shoulder and laughed until you shook because it embarrassed you. I’ve still got that dildo. Also have a bottle of moonshine. Might put the dildo to use tonight. The moonshine is almost gone already. Need to stop drinking, it’s not good. 

Rash is getting worse. I look pruney and gross, now, all over.

Most of my hair is gone, too, and I had Tony snip off what was left. I’d rather be bald than patchy. It’s a solid stone butch look still. Not that there’s anyone to admire it, anymore.

God.

God.

I’m crying now, so scratch the dildo. I’ll just go back to my cabin and cry for a while tonight, I think. 

XO

***

April 23, 2078

Things are growing well. We get those radstorms about once a week now. It’s like clockwork. We’re all...wrinkly radiation people now. Ugly as hell. Tony got necrosis in his nose, so it fell off, and I’m sure the rest of us will follow soon enough. Rosalind is...gone, I think. She went fastest out of us. She’s still alive, still eats and everything, but she just walks circles around the kitchen table in the small barn. Doesn’t talk much anymore. Grunts, mostly. I think the radiation rotted her brain.

Hope it doesn’t do the same to the rest of us.

Or, at least, that we all go at once so none of us has to see it happen to each other.

I think one of the guys who was here already thinks I’m halfway toward Rosalind myself, since I don’t ever sign with him. If they won’t learn, I can’t communicate with them ,so that one’s not my fault. If they wanna talk at me, they’re free to talk at me, but I’m not going to say anything back.

It’s hard. The rest of everyone likes to sit around the kitchen table and talk and talk and talk and I’m stuck trying to read lips on four people at once. Rosalind still signs, a little. I talk to her. She’s slow, now. Loses her train of thought a lot, gets distracted easily. She’s just not there anymore.

Worried it’ll be me next, if no one signs to me for too long.

Miss you.

XOXOXO

***

APril 24, 2078

I woke up to Rosetta shaking me awake. WIlliam--I think, I know “Will” at least and it was a long name--shot Rosalind at dawn. Me and Rosetta and Tony buried her down near the church. Set up a little cairn. We’re going to leave as soon as we can. If Will will shoot her when she’s not hurting anyone, just...changing, who know’s what he’ll do when the rest of us change the same way. So much for peace and love and hippies, huh?

Miss you. You were right about guns. When all you have is a hammer, etc.

I hope Shaun is doing alright.

I hope you are too.

XOXOX

***

June 23, 2078

Sorry I missed your birthday. We were on the run. Even now I have to type fast. There are raiders hunting us and I just wanted the last thing I say to my memories of you to be that I love you and I’m glad we were together for when we were. I want to get out of this, but Tony is starting to change the same way Rosalind did. Rosetta and I are afraid we’re going to have to leave him behind. So far he’s stayed with us but for how much longer?

Have to go, Rosetta wants to check for turret controls here.

Love you.

XOXO

***

Aug. 19, 2078

Now I missed Shaun’s birthday too. It’s harder and harder to find things with running power so I can plug this holotape in and type these. Tony is feral, now. We found other people like us. They’ve been calling themselves ‘ghouls’, said some folks from the south and the west who look like us called themselves that and it seems like a good name. Tony attacks...humans, I guess. We’re still human, right? People who aren’t like us, though. People who aren’t so badly irradiated. He doesn’t attack us, though. We seem to be safe.

That makes me glad, but it makes Rosalind’s death hurt more.

I’m seeing a lot of green, now, at least. It rains sometimes. The water still sets off the geiger counters, but I guess it doesn’t matter much. The other ghouls told us that radiation won’t hurt us anymore. That we’re lucky.

I guess.

Maybe.

Sometimes I wish I would have died on that first day, so that I never would have had to go through all of this. I wish it could have happened fast, instead of dragging on for however long this will.

I can’t remember you anymore, hardly. I can remember bits and pieces--the way you stand, how slow you rock in the rocking chair, the way your eyes squint when you laugh, the texture of your hair, the way you liked your coffee, how heavy your favorite blanket was on our laps, the way you would stand in the kitchen with a bottle and bounce Shaun until he stopped crying. I can remember all these little details but I’m forgetting others. What exact shade was your hair? What exact color were your eyes? How full did you fill your cereal bowl? What were the names of the kids you were proudest of in your class? Which shoe did you put on first in the morning? How many buttons did your shirts have? Who was your favorite coworker? 

I wonder how our families made it out of this. Did they make it out of this?

There’s no way to tell anymore. I could send a messenger out, I guess, but most of Boston is a wasteland still. Gang wars, raiders, police and military all trying to keep territory. A message would never make it.

For now we’re all holed up in some office building. Didn’t bother to look which. They still have auxiliary power. We’re staying on the top floor. Sleeping bags, waiting room couches, the works. It’s pretty comfortable. Eating some sort of giant bug, I think. I didn’t want to ask too many questions when we figured out it was a bug.

A couple of the other ghouls have been nice about the signing thing. They’ve at least tried to learn a few signs. It’s been nice.

I hope it stays this alright.

I love you.

XOXOXO

***

Aug 19, 2079

They’re not going to let you out of the vault.

I’m sure of it.

We’ve gone all over Boston and we found a few people who escaped the vaults in other places and they say that the vaults were experiments. All sorts of experiments.

What experiment did they do on you.

I’m so scared.

I don’t want to know.

But I do. I do want to know. I want to know because I’m holding out hope that you’ll come out of the vault and be okay. And then you and Shaun will come and find me, and you won’t mind that I’m a ghoul, and we’ll live happily ever after, back in out cute little pastel-painted suburb. And things will be alright. And we can pretend the war never happened, and things are okay, and that I’m not some fucked up radiation mutant who’s pining after a woman who, according to most of these stories about vaults, could very well be dead.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

***

Oct. 23, 2080

I’m giving up on this journal. I’m going to take it back to the house, so that maybe your descendants will find it. Maybe you’ll be a ghoul too. Maybe you’ll see it.

I’ve moved on.

I loved you, and I still love you, but it’s time for me to move on. You know, and you understand, and you would want me to continue to live my life like a real person, not fixate on you. It’s been three years since the bombs fell. It’s time to move on. We need to rebuild the world, not hold onto the past.

Love you.

XOXOXO

***

The holotape is faded, an ugly orange-and-white. It’s well-worn, scratched, dented, abused. There’s a name scratched on the side.

MARNIE, it says.

Codsworth handed it to her when she found him in the ruins of her house, still shaking from the fear of the radroaches, from the ride up the elevator, from this new and not-quite-desolate landscape that already has her swiping away mosquitos and watching for some sort of wildlife.

Codsworth had floated off down the street, and she had sat down on the couch, holotape in hand, and stared at it.

It looks like the ones Marnie used to keep. She kept them for writing notes on, and love letters sometimes too.

It’s not going anywhere, really. Codsworth gave it to her, told her he hadn’t read it--there was no terminal, he said, and he just _couldn’t_ justify _breaking and entering_ \--told her she should read it.

She slots it into her PipBoy, and text scrolls across the screen.

_Oct. 24, 2077_

_Sweetheart,_

_I’m typing this on a terminal at work…_


End file.
